The sun rises and the sun sets. I watch the colours run and merge, becoming first one and then another, but I see nothing special in it. I face this day as I would any other; weighed down by my sorrow for the fates of others.
My mind drifts to thoughts of Cyfier and our talk of the evening before. My mind drifts to Cyfier and the days that are to come. My mind drifts, following the paths unseen to the waking eye, the steps that one takes from the past to the present to the future. I see what will be and I weep for it. I weep for him.
No tear leaves silvered tracks upon my scarred vissage; no outward sign to evidence my heartbreak. I cry inside for a haunting truth, and little by little I die.
In an effort to avert the course of the poisoned river, I have done the only thing that I can. I have taken the last of my journals, wrapped it in paper and laid it on his doorstep addressed to him. Whether or not he reads it, I cannot know. I pray that he does and that, within the thin pages so carefuly filled by my thoughts, he can begin to understand my role in this, and my wishes for him.
I do not seek power or control. I do not seek lust or love. I desire only for him to be at peace, to follow the dreams he has so long held and so often disregarded. I wish only for him to be safe, to know love and joy.
He is far beyond my reach now, I think, yet still do I refuse to admit defeat. I watch and I wait in the vain hope that he will return, that I am wrong in thinking I have now been discarded as an item of no further use. There is one more thing that I can do for him. but I cannot do so if he will not allow it. I would never force my will upon him, thus do I linger as the light fades, wishing that my final gift may one day be bestowed.
The sun rises and the sun sets. I watch the colours run and merge, becoming first one and then another, but I see nothing special in it.
